[He takes a chair and pulls it by the bed, where he patiently waits his turn. In this room, the smell is overpowering. It's novel enough to keep Andersen's senses alert, for him to demonstrate the slightest of hesitations before he takes what's offered.]
No, and I'd like to hear about any side effects before I take a whiff of this. I came in to relax, but I'd like to minimize the price of my mental vacation.
Not as much as you'd think. Since coming here I have found that things are more potent than they used to be - as if I was my old self in that respect. That, and this is not in truth a poison at all. You should be the one concerned, with your short stature.
[he's contentedly away, and taps the ash off over the dish for them both.]
Why did you leap to try it, if you were so uncertain as to the contents? That's reckless of you.
[Dantes wouldn't give Andersen something he couldn't handle. His status as his Bonded gave him too much importance to risk that. If there was anyone to go on a trip with, it'd be the man sitting beside him.
He closes his eyes, waiting for the drug to kick in.]
And even an alcoholic such as myself can tire of drink.
Well, you've made the right call trusting me with this.
[he's not, as a habit, someone that does this. but he used to indulge in an equivalent enough when his body was still plagued by dreams that had nothing to do with being a servant and everything that made his body revolt at sleep, at food, at balance. so he knows how it feels, how swiftly it sets in, and the unwinding of his mind that offers some blessed quiet - all too soon, when he hears so much now.]
Don't fight what you feel come over you. Men across the ages sought these sensations, and wrote poetry and philosophy on them.
[There is a feeling of something settling in, warm and heavy, the weight of it promising more. It presses on the edge of his senses and a shiver goes through Andersen.]
...If I find myself particularly restless, yes. Since I require sleep in this world, I must attend to it, troublesome as it can be.
[he takes another hit, offering it back out to his Bonded. though his dreams were not pleasant ones, the physical rest required to function in the world made them a trial he dove through regularly.]
[As he takes the offering, there is a subtle shift. It's difficult to describe. Things simply become more; there's a sense of comfort slipping in that wasn't previously there. Everything is magnified. The creases on Dantes's gloves; the lines on Andersen's fingers; the way Dantes's hair curls like the fine insides of a sea shell. He hesitates a moment too long before he puts the drug to his mouth and breathes in deep.
...
He forgot to answer. He's too caught up in the little details.]
[he can tell, and he grins a little, leaning back some against the pillows of his bed.]
Just like that, relax into it. Nothing is going to hurt you.
[the parts of the world that lost sharp edges and the release of tension in his body, the softness of fabric and the way smoke curls into the atmosphere. he'll air out his room at a different time, he always does, but right now it's allowed to dissipate over them.]
[Nothing is going to hurt you. Such a simple reassurance, yet it's a relief to hear it. Andersen closes his eyes. He feels as if he could melt into the leather of the chair.]
... it's never been this quiet before.
[From a very young age, his head has always been such a noisy place. Dreams of grandeur, fears and worries, remnants of inspiration -- a constant stream of thoughts, never still. It's strange to be fully present in the moment.]
Hm. This is the sort of feeling I looked for in alcohol.
[and it had a tendency to make him say the wrong thing, if he was too far gone. this doesn't make him unaware of who he is and what they're doing, it only pulled back the veil somewhat.
Dantes continues, slow and without any strain. he's anchored to the here and now instead of the past - a relief, for a short time.]
This is all, naturally, a complete secret. But times being what they are...we both could use the break.
[he turns towards him, propping his head up on the side. ordinarily, his questions would come much faster, urgent, but right now they float up like bubbles in a reasonable order.]
[He turns to look at him, movements slow and easy, his gaze not quite focused.]
I'm a burden to you. I'm not a Servant in this world. That's one strike against me. I'm not a good Witch, either. That's two. I'm a drunken, cynical, sniveling weakling.
[He would be more cagey about the real reason were he not under the influence right now, so he gives it in the bluntest fashion possible.]
Just-- I don't want to see you so desperate again.
[Such unreserved honesty from Dantes causes Andersen's face to heat up. He has to look away, otherwise he'd find it difficult to continue speaking.]
Don't fret so much, it's unbecoming of you. I'm not someone you should messily spill your emotions to, I'll pick you apart like the vulture I am. And in any case, I won't be gone for long. It'll... only be for a few days.
[he could reply that Andersen, knowing his story, knows quite well that his emotions are there regardless of how many walls he sets up. but it feels like an undue effort, fighting the drug in their systems for that, and instead he passes it back.]
...Do what you feel you must, Andersen. But I shall want to know details, later - just so I know where you are.
[as a courtesy, his tone implies. not demanding the answers out of him, but whatever he chose to share. he cannot stop him, and he will not, no matter how something in his heart will twist with agitation and have to learn to let go.]
[He doesn't take another hit. This is his first time, and he'd rather go slowly than to force more down. Instead, he sets it on the tray between them, laces his fingers in his lap.]
I thought I'd have more trouble wrangling an agreement from you.
I won't deny that it sits very ill at ease with me, with all we've been through. But I cannot try to impose my own will upon you - say you cannot do this, force my presence in the name of protecting you.
[he frowns, but his eyes are not harsh. for all his posturing and thundering authority and darkness, right now he's just a man, looking at those eyes of blue for the answers he seeks.]
To do so would make me a tyrant. And when I have spoken to you about how I value the equal partnership in our Bond, it would make me an unbearable hypocrite. If it is what you wish, then I shall not stand in your way.
... I despise fieldwork. I'm not someone suited to trudge into a battlefield or fit to fight. I know what my role is as a Servant. It's to be an observer. A supporter. I at least had that in Chaldea. Here, I've had to start all over again. Truth be told, it's a load of work I never asked for!
[A brief pause.]
I don't have any delusions of becoming someone capable of providing you the same level of protection. That's far beyond me. What I want... is to conquer myself.
[Dantes is quiet for a moment, absorbing that information. then, slowly, he reaches out - not for the drug, but to touch Andersen's hand. a brief thing, meant to be reassuring.]
Then go, Hans Christian Andersen. Go, because it is for your own sake. Else you shall not give yourself any peace. I'll be here when you get back.
[I'm not worth waiting for sits on the tip of his tongue, an instinctual denial of the reassurance being offered to him. But they have been in Geardagas for nearly half a year, now. And for whatever reason, Dantes has chosen to remain in their contract -- even though he's surely set his roots, even though he's surely mingled plenty with Mirrorbound and natives alike. Andersen still doesn't fully grasp the reason behind Dantes's distress over his kidnapping, when his Bonded has offered little of worth. He likely will never know, for Dantes keeps everything close to his chest. It isn't a distressing observation, not with the drug's influence. It simply is.
Which is why he snickers to himself, struck by a sudden giddiness, words slipping out without any filter:]
Of course you'll be. Where else would you go! You, maniac that you are, still haven't realized the awful deal you've consigned yourself to.
[he exhales slowly, in the way people do when they are settling into something, but he's still looking. unwavering, focused - the tension gone from him doesn't mean he doesn't know what those words mean. he can hear the self-flagellation in each syllable.]
When are you going to realize that I'm Bonded to you because I wish to be?
[no one was forcing him to stay. he could go to the Coven tomorrow and annul it if he wasn't content where he was. he could take on another Bond. but he stays where he is, giving this Bond the respect he thinks it deserves, and drawing strength from it.]
I was a convenient choice. And you've still a sense of honor that holds you to our original vows, though I wouldn't have batted an eye if you turned around and found some better-off Witch.
[He's rambling now, without much thought or rhyme to what he's saying.]
Because for all your talk about being the fire of vengeance, of being a demon beyond love and hate, you are still Edmond Dantes -- and you can't stomach the sight of an innocent left behind. Is that why you were so upset to find me in the state I was, after the Rathmores?
[Because Andersen can't comprehend moving someone so deeply, so much. He should stop, but everything is funny to him with the drug in his system.]
Is that why you've stuck around? Because I'm someone you can take care of? Do my child-like looks stir a paternal feeling in your chest?
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No, and I'd like to hear about any side effects before I take a whiff of this. I came in to relax, but I'd like to minimize the price of my mental vacation.
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[that's not telling him the side effects, Dantes, but he feels it's best to be reassuring.]
Your thinking may get less clear, but neither of us have had significant problems with clear thinking, have we?
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[He puts it to his lips and, imitating Dantes, he takes in a deep breath. Exhales it all out in a single stream of smoke before passing it back.]
How much of this do you have to take for it to overcome your poison resistance?
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[he's contentedly away, and taps the ash off over the dish for them both.]
Why did you leap to try it, if you were so uncertain as to the contents? That's reckless of you.
[should he sound vaguely warm when he says it?]
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[Dantes wouldn't give Andersen something he couldn't handle. His status as his Bonded gave him too much importance to risk that. If there was anyone to go on a trip with, it'd be the man sitting beside him.
He closes his eyes, waiting for the drug to kick in.]
And even an alcoholic such as myself can tire of drink.
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[he's not, as a habit, someone that does this. but he used to indulge in an equivalent enough when his body was still plagued by dreams that had nothing to do with being a servant and everything that made his body revolt at sleep, at food, at balance. so he knows how it feels, how swiftly it sets in, and the unwinding of his mind that offers some blessed quiet - all too soon, when he hears so much now.]
Don't fight what you feel come over you. Men across the ages sought these sensations, and wrote poetry and philosophy on them.
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... do you take this to sleep?
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[he takes another hit, offering it back out to his Bonded. though his dreams were not pleasant ones, the physical rest required to function in the world made them a trial he dove through regularly.]
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...
He forgot to answer. He's too caught up in the little details.]
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Just like that, relax into it. Nothing is going to hurt you.
[the parts of the world that lost sharp edges and the release of tension in his body, the softness of fabric and the way smoke curls into the atmosphere. he'll air out his room at a different time, he always does, but right now it's allowed to dissipate over them.]
How's your head now? Quieter?
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... it's never been this quiet before.
[From a very young age, his head has always been such a noisy place. Dreams of grandeur, fears and worries, remnants of inspiration -- a constant stream of thoughts, never still. It's strange to be fully present in the moment.]
Hm. This is the sort of feeling I looked for in alcohol.
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[and it had a tendency to make him say the wrong thing, if he was too far gone. this doesn't make him unaware of who he is and what they're doing, it only pulled back the veil somewhat.
Dantes continues, slow and without any strain. he's anchored to the here and now instead of the past - a relief, for a short time.]
This is all, naturally, a complete secret. But times being what they are...we both could use the break.
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... I intend to leave the city for a short time.
[A slow, cautious mention.]
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[he turns towards him, propping his head up on the side. ordinarily, his questions would come much faster, urgent, but right now they float up like bubbles in a reasonable order.]
May I know why?
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I'm a burden to you. I'm not a Servant in this world. That's one strike against me. I'm not a good Witch, either. That's two. I'm a drunken, cynical, sniveling weakling.
[He would be more cagey about the real reason were he not under the influence right now, so he gives it in the bluntest fashion possible.]
Just-- I don't want to see you so desperate again.
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[not wanting to see him desperate? he was the one who didn't want to see his Bonded that badly injured again.]
If you don't want to see me desperate...that's the one thing I can't help that much. My feelings are what they are.
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Don't fret so much, it's unbecoming of you. I'm not someone you should messily spill your emotions to, I'll pick you apart like the vulture I am. And in any case, I won't be gone for long. It'll... only be for a few days.
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...Do what you feel you must, Andersen. But I shall want to know details, later - just so I know where you are.
[as a courtesy, his tone implies. not demanding the answers out of him, but whatever he chose to share. he cannot stop him, and he will not, no matter how something in his heart will twist with agitation and have to learn to let go.]
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I thought I'd have more trouble wrangling an agreement from you.
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[he frowns, but his eyes are not harsh. for all his posturing and thundering authority and darkness, right now he's just a man, looking at those eyes of blue for the answers he seeks.]
To do so would make me a tyrant. And when I have spoken to you about how I value the equal partnership in our Bond, it would make me an unbearable hypocrite. If it is what you wish, then I shall not stand in your way.
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[A brief pause.]
I don't have any delusions of becoming someone capable of providing you the same level of protection. That's far beyond me. What I want... is to conquer myself.
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Then go, Hans Christian Andersen. Go, because it is for your own sake. Else you shall not give yourself any peace. I'll be here when you get back.
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Which is why he snickers to himself, struck by a sudden giddiness, words slipping out without any filter:]
Of course you'll be. Where else would you go! You, maniac that you are, still haven't realized the awful deal you've consigned yourself to.
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When are you going to realize that I'm Bonded to you because I wish to be?
[no one was forcing him to stay. he could go to the Coven tomorrow and annul it if he wasn't content where he was. he could take on another Bond. but he stays where he is, giving this Bond the respect he thinks it deserves, and drawing strength from it.]
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[He's rambling now, without much thought or rhyme to what he's saying.]
Because for all your talk about being the fire of vengeance, of being a demon beyond love and hate, you are still Edmond Dantes -- and you can't stomach the sight of an innocent left behind. Is that why you were so upset to find me in the state I was, after the Rathmores?
[Because Andersen can't comprehend moving someone so deeply, so much. He should stop, but everything is funny to him with the drug in his system.]
Is that why you've stuck around? Because I'm someone you can take care of? Do my child-like looks stir a paternal feeling in your chest?
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